Filling the Blanks
by daymarket
Summary: He died first, and it was thirty years before Dean followed. Thirty years is a long time, and Sam finds that he has a lot of gaps to fill.


**Title:** Filling the Blanks  
**Pairing:** Dean/Cas  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** Swearing.  
**Spoilers:** Follows S5 up till 5x21, but with a Michael!Dean vs. Samifer version of the Apocalypse instead.  
**Word Count:** 5,720  
**Notes/Prompts:** Written for the 2010 Deancastiel Secret Angels exchange! Prompts used: _a relatively nice angst free get together (with side ordering of Missouri)_ and _finding out_.

**Summary:** _He died first, and it was thirty years before Dean followed. Thirty years is a long time, and Sam finds that he has a lot of gaps to fill._

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* * *

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**Filling the Blanks**

Dean was dead, and he was finally coming home.

They knew that he was coming almost a day in advance, thanks to the weird time loss that occurred during travel between Heaven and Earth. (Apparently, Reapers really took their time when it came to ferrying souls around.) Still, Sam couldn't stop the wild thrill of excitement that ran through him at the sight of the Roadhouse door pushing open, with Dean cautiously stepping through from the other side. The look on Dean's face said a thousand words as he took in the sight.

"Well, don't just sit there gawping, you idjit," Bobby said as Dean hesitated by the door. "Come on in, the beer's getting warm."

"Bobby…?" Dean whispered.

"Who were you expecting? After all that trouble we had to go through to get that bastard demon to hand me my soul back. There was no way I was headin' to the pit after that, boy." Bobby sniffed and adjusted his cap. "Took you long enough to get here."

Dean stared at him, speechless. Ellen was the first one to break the silence. "Well, sit down, then," she said. "After all, you're back from the living and here to stay."

"Ellen—I—" Dean said, and his voice, so painfully familiar, made Sam's heart clench in his chest. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but it drew up memories that were as fresh as if they had occurred yesterday.

"No other," Ellen said. "You going to sit down? I've got beer."

Dean stared at her for a moment longer, words clearly fighting each other for dominance. What finally came out was surprisingly quiet; Dean swallowed hard before saying, "Ellen—Jo—I am so sorry."

Sam's heart clenched in his chest. From the look on Ellen's face, the same happened to her as well. She shook her head fiercely and gripped his arm tight. "Don't start apologizing," she said. "Sam's already said enough sorrys to a fill a boat, and I didn't need a single one. It's a hunter's life. We were all going to go sooner or later."

"Yeah, but not like that," Dean muttered. "And not so young." He took a deep breath, glancing at Jo.

"Hey, at least I went out in a blaze of glory," Jo said with a shrug, brushing her hair back behind her shoulders. "Literally." She dropped the glib tone at the silent flinch in Dean's eyes, and she rubbed a hand over his arm reassuringly. "It's not your fault, Dean, so let's get that over with, okay? Enough with the pity party."

"Don't tell me you've been kicking yourself about this for the past thirty years," Ellen added with a frown.

Dean laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "Nah. Of course not. I had way bigger things on my plate." He swallowed hard as his eyes continued to sweep the room, and Sam knew instinctively that Dean was looking for him. He lingered in the shadows, suddenly reluctant to face his brother, but there as only so much a pillar could do to hide someone of his size.

His breath caught in his throat as Dean's eyes fell on him. Dean took an involuntary step forward before freezing into place on the rough floor. "Oh," Dean said softly, his voice breaking. "Sammy."

Their last meeting flashed in vivid color in Sam's memory: two fucking archangels riding in their skins, locked in their stupid battle of destiny that had been preordained centuries before without a care of the humans who might get swept up in the rush. Michael had dealt the death blow, one that had killed not only Lucifer, but Sam as well. Dean's eyes, dark with righteous fury, had been the last thing he'd seen before white light had swallowed up his vision.

And those same eyes were looking at him now, painful with longing.

"Dean," Sam began as he saw Dean's unvoiced plea. He'd had years to rehearse platitudes, little speeches like, _It wasn't you, Michael made you do it!_ or _It's my own fault for saying yes, Dean, I'm so sorry._ In Sam's little scenarios, Dean had gone through every possible reaction, from staring blankly to punching Sam in the face to bursting into manly tears.

Sam wasn't actually conscious of moving, but he must have, because the next thing he knew he was wrapped in Dean's arms again, transported back to another time, when he was six years old and it was perfectly fine to hug your big brother and have him rock you to sleep. It took him a few moments to work the words past the knot in his chest, and when he finally did, they came out in a watery rush. "Hey," he breathed back. "You're looking good for your age."

Dean's arms tightened around Sam as if he never wanted to let go—which, coincidentally, was how Sam felt as well. "I am," Dean said softly, his arms tightening around Sam as if he never wanted to let go—which, coincidentally, was how Sam felt as well. "I'm definitely doing better than I was a few minutes ago, anyway."

Sam buried his face into Dean's shoulder, inhaling that weird mix of clean sweat and gunpowder and beer that was so very _Dean._ He snuffled a weak laugh, suddenly aware of the dampness that was pooling on Dean's sleeve. "Well, dying can't be fun, but that's the entrance fee to Heaven," Sam said when he managed to steady his voice enough to speak.

"It's a price that most only have to pay once, but you Winchesters never do anything by halves," a voice said gravely from behind Dean. Sam pulled his face from Dean's sleeve to see Castiel behind him. The angel stood near the door of the Roadhouse, a faint crease between his eyebrows as he watched.

Dean laughed, and Sam felt the last of the tension seep out from his body. "You came along for the ride, Cas?" he said as he disentangled himself from Sam.

"I find that when I leave you alone, Dean, things tend to go from being mildly strange to utter chaos," Cas remarked, his hands in the pockets of the ever-present trenchcoat. "Besides. My work on earth is done."

"Don't you have a bunch of heavens to herd around or something? I mean, sticking around with one human all this time, surely you want to get it on with your angel pals?" Dean said, turning his face away.

Cas shook his head as he slid down into a bar stool, his eyes fixed on Dean's face. "I will stay for as long as you need me, Dean," he said in a voice that was almost too low for Sam to hear. "For as long as you want me."

Dean swallowed, and he glanced up to look at Cas' solemn eyes. He gave a small nod before seemingly becoming aware of the others' gaze on them, and a slight red stole over his cheeks. "Um," he said.

"Well," Ellen said. "I won't kick him out, then." At Dean's raised eyebrow of inquiry, she explained, "We've been waging a guerilla war against the angels by banishing their asses back to Oz if they try to get in, but hey, your buddy is the one exception."

"You are no doubt aided by the fact that the angels have no real desire to get in," Cas said dryly, rearranging his trenchcoat to sit more comfortably on the bar stool. "Michael has resigned himself to the fact that one heaven out of the infinities of heavens has decided to go rogue."

"Excuse me? Just one?" Ash piped up from the pool table. Dean's eyes lit up, and Sam laughed as he parted way to let Ash through. "I beg to differ, hombre—I've hijacked at least a dozen now and counting." He winked at Dean. "Close your mouth before flies get in, Dean-o."

"Ash," Dean breathed. "Damn! It's good to see you again, man."

"It's good to see me again any day," Ash said, tossing his hair out extravagantly. "I'm just that awesome."

"Yeah, you tell em', Dr. Badass," Sam said with a snort. "Ash has been hacking angel radio and learning Enochian in his spare time," he said to Dean. "He's been corrupting Jo while he's at it."

"I suppose you've picked it up as well?" Dean asked Sam. "I mean, I know you were busy pining after me and everything, but a geek like you wouldn't passed this chance, would you?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck as Ash exploded into laughter. "He's a Latin boy, Sam," Ash said. "Enochian's too sophisticated for him."

"Oh, come on!" Sam protested. "I'm working on it." He grinned at Cas. "I can almost exorcise with the mouth of a goat, if it makes you feel any better."

"That, in fact, does not," Cas remarked. "Fortunately, there is little need for exorcism up here."

"Or down there, really," Dean said. "Latin's becoming a dead language. Well, deader."

"Yeah, Cas filled us in on that a bit," Ellen nodded. "Something about the angels taking up monster-ganking duty after the Apocalypse ended? Damn, at least we didn't miss out on anything."

"Something of the sort, yes," Cas said, primly folding his hands in front of him. "Fortunately, we seem to have cleared up the worst outbreaks by now."

"Yeah, well, it sure wasn't easy," Dean said, shaking his head. "While you guys were living the good life, Cas and I were stuck cleaning up a lot of the shit left over."

Sam glanced from Dean to Cas and back. "So, you guys have been hunting all this time?"

Dean shook his head. "The last couple years have been pretty quiet. I mean, once you hit a certain age, there's not much energy for hunting, you know?"

"We've hunted, but not recently," Cas said. "Other things came up."

Sam opened his mouth, noting the way that Cas' face seemed to close down. "Do I want to know what other things?" he asked carefully.

Cas gave him a sideways look. "Well, I've been on earth for most of these past few years," he said, sidestepping the question. "I haven't been very involved in matters of heaven."

"Neither have I," Dean said in support. "Michael, that son of a bitch. He kept his promise, at least, didn't leave me a drooling mess. But still. What an asshole."

He looked at Sam with a small worried frown, and Sam fumbled with the sudden new change of topic. "Hey, like I said," he said after realigning his thoughts. "I'm fine, man. I wanted you to live your life, and you did. And, well, the angels have left us alone, so they're not total dicks, I guess. Except for Michael."

"It is part of Michael's peace," Cas said. "The angels will stay as far from the Roadhouse as possible. In all honesty, though, I doubt Michael could do anything even if he were inclined to do so."

"Well, even if he really wanted to, we've still got an angel-ganking knife or two around," Jo said. "Beer?" She pulled out a six-pack and began throwing beers to everyone. Cas caught his and studied it intently for a moment, and Dean reached up and helped him snap the top open before handing it back. "How about a toast?" Jo asked.

"So," Ellen said, holding hers up. "Here's to people making dumb mistakes, dying, and ending up in the best place in the whole universe."

"I'll drink to that," Bobby said. "Although, for the best place in the universe, it does get a little dull from time to time."

"Well, we ain't hunters anymore, Bobby," Ellen said with a shrug. "I mean, we're dead, right? What else could anyone ask for?"

"Hey, just because you're dead doesn't mean you can't do something productive, like overthrow heaven and hell," Jo protested. "We're rebels, remember? Lots of things to do. I mean, not that we didn't all miss you, Dean, but we can only sit around and cry into our hankies for so long."

"I'm flattered, Jo," Dean said "And I'm glad to know that you kept busy. I mean, a man needs some private time, you know?" He winked at her. Ellen frowned slightly and slapped him lightly on the head.

"Don't paint us a picture," Bobby said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm too old for this shit."

"Wasn't planning to," Dean said ruefully, rubbing his head. "So you guys could actually see me, or what? That's kind of creepy. I mean, talking about your loved ones watching you from heaven is all well and good, but it's a bit eerie in practice."

"Relax. We couldn't actually watch you," Sam said. "We only knew about your life from what Cas told us." Dean turned to look at Cas, who gave a small, unapologetic shrug. "He visited here sometimes." He made a face. "As in every couple years, maybe."

"The angel's idea of good intel is to pop up every once in a while and say, 'Dean Winchester still has all his limbs attached' before vanishing again," Ellen grumbled. "Some help that was."

"Really?" Dean said with a small smile. "I guess angels of the Lord aren't into gossip, huh? But don't you guys talk all the time on angel radio?" he asked, looking at Cas.

"Communications between angels are not _gossip_," Cas said. "At any rate, I communicated what was necessary."

"Necessary?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow, and Cas gave him a small, indecipherable look.

"Excuses, excuses," Jo said with a sorrowful shake of her head. "We were on pins and needles for thirty damn years."

"Hey, don't tear him apart," Dean said, reaching out to straighten the collar of Cas' ever-present trenchcoat. "I mean, he did tell me that I was going to heaven, which made it a lot easier." He looked around. "Although, I have to say that he didn't quite fill me in on the fine print."

"What, the afterlife's not quite what you thought it would be?" Sam said with a laugh.

Dean didn't return the smile. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's definitely not."

Sam felt the smile drop off his face. "Is that good or bad?" he asked finally, his voice quiet.

"Good," Dean said hastily, gripping Sam's arm. "Definitely good. Stop worrying, Sammy."

Sam felt the last knots of tension relax at Dean's quiet, earnest words. "Okay, then," he said, managing to keep the wobble out of his voice. "Well, I've had a long time to get out of practice, you know."

"Yeah, well, since Cas sucks as a go-between, I guess we've got a lot to catch up on," Dean said with a wry smile. Cas sipped his beer, looking unrepentant.

"Well, we're all starving for details as a result," Sam said, punching Dean lightly on the arm. "So, what else did you do with the rest of your life? I mean—" he hesitated, then said, "The first couple years must've been a bitch, yeah?"

Dean took his time before he answered; he swallowed, wiped his mouth, and set the beer can aside with a clunk on the table. "You could say that," he said finally, not looking at Sam. "But thirty years are a long time."

Sam blew out a long breath. "Sorry, man."

"Sorry?" Dean glanced at him. "We've already made it past the awkward bit. Let's not revisit it, because I've had enough of crying and chick-flick professions of love." He shook his head. "Let's just say that it was the angels' fault for getting us involved in their stupid little wars and leave it at that."

"The Apocalypse was hardly a 'stupid little war,'" Cas said, although he didn't look all that upset. "It was a cataclysmic event that had been predicted since the beginning of memory."

"Yeah, we know, nerd angel," Dean said, nudging Cas. "Man, getting you back up here has really fixed the stick back in your ass, huh? Loosen up a bit."

Cas studied Dean for a moment before turning that unnerving gaze onto Sam. "I'm going to need stronger alcohol to do that," he said, and Sam laughed at the dry undertone of Cas' voice.

"This guy can drink anything," Dean said confidentially to Sam. "You have no idea how much money guys paid up when they tried to drink him under the table." He shook his head. "He sucks ass at pool, though."

"We all have our talents," Cas said serenely. "At any rate, it is a moot point now."

"Yeah, we could all use some downtime," Dean sighed.

"Well, Heaven is nothing _but_ downtime," Ellen said. "As for stronger alcohol, we've got that in spades. I've got tequila, whiskey, and let's not forget the purest rotgut you can find in the universe. Who's up first?"

"Don't say yes," Bobby warned. "Ellen's stuff will knock you back even up here."

"Actually, I haven't touched alcohol for a long time," Dean said. "Something about a weak liver or whatever. I mean, I was hitting late seventies when I finally kicked the bucket, so it wasn't completely unexpected."

"So you actually got to experience the scourge of old age, huh?" Jo said sympathetically. "I'm actually kind of glad I got to skip that part."

"Well, I have to say it wasn't exactly my idea of a good time, either," Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was in pretty crappy shape those last few years."

"Define crappy shape," Sam said with a frown.

"Relax, mother hen," Dean said, waving his hand. "I was still as handsome as ever. And I didn't die alone, if that's what you're fussing about; Cas hung around until the last minute to leave." He looked at the angel, who looked back with his customary stare. "Can't get rid of him even in death, apparently," Dean said.

"Being your nursemaid goes beyond mere death," Cas agreed solemnly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Nursemaid? I'll have you know that I'm a grown man," Dean said, mock-offended. "Over a hundred years old if you count my years in Hell."

"I do not," Cas said firmly. "But you will have many more years in Heaven, at least."

Dean's expression softened. "Yeah, I do," he said, looking around the gathered circle. Jo reached out and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. Dean accepted the touch, though his eyes flickered back to Cas. The angel stared back, and Sam felt that there was some sort of silent understanding between them, one that had roots in the thirty years that he'd been gone.

"Well, enough of this sentimentality," Ellen said briskly, interrupting the solemn silence. "Death isn't the end, and it's about time we got over it. Ash!"

"On it, mistress," Ash said, clapping his hands twice. Instantly, blaring rock filled the room, and Sam forgot his concerns as Dean's face lit up. "The Roadhouse is the new Garden of Eden, boys and girls and assorted alcohol!" Ash announced grandly, flinging his arms out. "You're in good company, my man, because despite owning the best piece of real estate in this googleplex of universes, we are a bunch of unholy heathen motherfuckers. And damn, we can hold a better party than this, can't we? After all, the prodigal son's come home!"

* * *

Ash brought in a few more people before the party ended; Pamela winked at Dean and invited him to her heaven anytime, while Missouri hugged Dean hard before throwing Sam a significant look that he didn't quite understand. Dean had turned a faint shade of pink and mumbled something that Sam hadn't caught, but he figured that Dean would tell him when he was ready. He wasn't going to rush into this; after all, they had millennia to sort this out.

Somewhere around hour four, Dean had asked to see his own heaven. Ash had obliged, and that was how Sam found himself in a dingy motel room with Dean, watching himself watch TV. "Christmas?" he asked Dean, who nodded slightly.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The year before my deal came due. Remember, with the pagan gods?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam laughed. He watched himself pour another cup of eggnog, sneaking looks at the empty space where memory-Dean should have been. "I had lots of fun with those skin mags, man."

"Yeah, well, anything make happy Sammy times easier," Dean said easily.

They petered off into silence. Sam took a deep breath, searching for anything that could break the quiet. "So," he said after a moment, unable to come up with anything better.

"So," Dean echoed "Well, uh. Not that I'm not a fan of uncomfortable silences, but—how you holding up?"

"I should be asking you that, shouldn't I?" Sam said.

"Yeah, but you didn't," Dean said. He hesitated, then said softly, "Sammy…"

"You're going to say something incredibly sentimental, aren't you?" Sam said quickly, anticipating the grin that appeared on Dean's face. "Don't, Dean." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get a few things straight. The angels fucked us over and I died. But I wanted you to live your life, more than anything. And you did. And you're here now, and that's what matters."

"Yeah, I have to admit to being really relieved that the basement gave me a season pass," Dean said. "Knowing that my ticket here was reserved was a huge relief."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't think that I would get in," he confessed. "I…you know, what with—"

"Some son of a bitch riding in your skin doesn't make you evil," Dean said firmly. He looked down. "I missed you, Sammy."

Sam smiled. "I missed you too." He paused, then added, "You and your musk."

"Nice," Dean said, but he was laughing. "Goddamn it. I had this whole speech lined up about brotherhood and family and you had to go ahead and say something like that?"

Sam laughed. "Hey, we're not writing the next Gettysburg Address here. Just wing it. That works."

"Weren't you going to be a lawyer at some point in your life?" Dean said, shaking his head. "With that kind of rhetoric, I would have been surprised if you graduated law school at all."

"Well, good thing that some total asshole pulled me out of school and turned me back to hunting, then," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean said, his smile fading.

"It was the right thing to do," Sam said firmly, gripping Dean's shoulder.

"You ever wonder how it might have been different?" Dean asked, turning towards Sam. "I mean, if you had stayed at Stanford. I wonder if the angels would have fucked with us as much then."

"Well, the demons were always going to drive me away," Sam said with a shrug. "I mean, you heard Brady. Azazel had his plans for me and he wasn't going to give them up." He hesitated, then said, "I find that it's pretty much useless to wonder about what might have been, Dean."

"Heaven's not a fan of what-ifs?"

"There's too much time to think, I guess, and nothing we can do to change the past," Sam said. "I mean—shit happens. Then life goes on. And you didn't waste your life trying to get me back, or making another deal or anything like that. You went on with your life."

"Hunting in crappy motel rooms," Dean said, though he did look a little wistful as he glanced at memory-Sam. He moved restlessly through the motel room, running his fingers over the back of the gringy sofa. He sighed. "I was a fucking mess after you died, Sammy."

"I know," Sam said quietly. Dean looked up, and Sam said softly, "Cas told me."

"Cas," Dean said, scuffing his shoe on the floor. "What did he say, exactly?"

Sam thought for a moment. "That you were a mess. That you were drunk. And later on, that you were eating again, carrying on…it was a while before that happened, though. I guess you lived off alcohol and adrenaline right after I…?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a sigh. "Not my proudest moment, man." His eyes fell on the memory-Sam, who had leaned back against the couch and propped his legs on the coffee table at this point. "Come on," he said abruptly, pushing himself away. "Let's get some air."

He headed to the door and pulled it open. As Sam followed Dean outside, the dim motel lighting changed into bright, clear sunshine, broken by patches of trees and a soft summer breeze. Dean stopped abruptly, and Sam almost walked right into him. "Dean?" he asked concernedly. "You okay?"

"Damn," Dean said softly, turning his face up towards the sun. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Sam suddenly felt that he could see Dean's face flash through his entire lifetime, from a young boy to an old man. Sam watched, drinking in the sight of Dean through all stages of his life, beginning to fill in the empty slots he had missed.

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked quietly when Dean opened his eyes again, and it was just Dean again, his face the way it had looked when he was thirty. "Where is this place?"

"This is…" Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I…"

"Dean."

Sam looked up at the low, gravelly voice to see Cas standing just a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat. He looked relaxed, with the customary glare softened into something that Sam couldn't quite decipher. Behind him, Sam could see two great shadows folded neatly against his back.

"Cas," Dean answered quietly.

The shadows rustled behind Cas, and the realization hit Sam like a jolt of lightning—wings. Cas' wings. As Sam watched, Dean reached out for them as if in a dream, running his fingers reverently down the black feathers. Cas shuddered and closed his eyes, his head falling to a rest against Dean's shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said slowly as the wings relaxed from their tight position against Cas' back, spreading out under Dean's touch. "What's going on?"

Dean looked up, and anxiety flashed in his eyes. "Don't freak out," he said, his voice wary. "I mean, I was a mess after you died. A serious fucking mess."

"I know," Sam said as Dean's eyes slid back to meet Castiel's. "To be honest, I would've been mortally offended if you weren't a mess," he added, only half-jokingly.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I got pretty self-destructive after that, too. Jesus Christ." He blew out his breath slowly. "I—uh—just hear me out, okay?"

"Okay…?"

"Sam—"

* * *

This is how it happened (so said Dean unto Sam):

Alcohol and adrenaline was a pretty damn accurate way to describe his mental state after Sam's death. He hunted with neurotic zeal and buried himself in the bottle; and when he was drunk, he could finally let go of the carefully maintained façade of "Saving People, Hunting Things, Yay!" No doubt it wreaked hell on his liver, but a more immediate threat on one particular night had been the tree on the side of the road that the Impala had been heading towards at full speed.

Before he managed to plow into the tree, though, Cas had appeared in the passenger seat. He'd scared the ever living shit out of Dean and had zapped him to the motel to sleep it out. The next day, he'd been all _angel-of-the-lord_ on Dean: getting into Dean's face and ranting about the idiocy of human beings, their suicidal tendencies, and how he_really did not have time for Dean's shit_ when all of Heaven was in chaos.

Dean had retorted with a brilliant "screw you," which was a fucking brilliant retort, considering that his head had hurt so goddamn much that morning. Cas, since he was a self-righteous bastard, had reached out with the hand of God (or so it seemed), pulled Dean close, and growled, "Stop thinking that you're worthless, Dean."

And then Cas had kissed him.

And Dean had kissed back.

And that was that.

* * *

"Like I said," Dean muttered, "fucking mess." He looked sideways at Sam, who blinked at him wordlessly.

"Okay," Sam said when he managed to get his voice back. "Wow."

"Wow what?" Dean demanded, looking slightly defensive.

"Just, you know, general wowness," Sam said. He paused, then said, "So was this before you guys started hunting together, or after?"

"After, I guess," Dean said reluctantly. "I mean, Cas had popped in once or twice before that, you know? He didn't stay very long, though. We only really started hunting together afterwards." He faltered, trailing off into silence.

"Well, if Cas managed to stop you from drinking yourself to death, Dean, I'm not going to say otherwise," Sam said, watching as memory-Cas' wings spread to their full length, the dark feathers creating a canopy from the hot sun. Dean's expression softened as he stroked a palm along the sleek black lines, tracing the edge of the wing. "So, yeah. Okay."

"Okay?" Dean said, looking up suspiciously. "What do you mean, okay?"

"He stayed, didn't he?" Sam asked quietly.

"He made himself pretty useful," Dean said, looking down. "I couldn't stand to kick him out, so yeah, he stayed."

Sam took a deep breath, flashing back the reunion at the Roadhouse. The casual way Dean had touched Cas, the quiet glances the two of them had shared. Thirty years, and Cas had been there are the end, hadn't he… "Well. Okay, then."

Dean swallowed once, hard. "You're not—"

"Not what?"

"Not—damn it. I thought you were going to flip out, man."

"Flip out because you're gay?"

Dean winced. "Ah. Yeah, about that. I'm not gay, okay? I just—Cas was there, and besides, he's an angel, so the gender of his vessel doesn't matter. I mean, it wouldn't have made a difference if he was shaped like Jimmy or Claire or a box of Cheerios. Just so we're clear on that."

"Really," Sam said, a small grin pushing at the corners of his mouth. "How about Froot Loops?"

Dean stared, and it was a moment before he loosened up enough to let out a short laugh. In his arms, memory-Cas looked at him, his blue eyes dark and unfathomable. Dean smoothed his fingers through his hair with slightly nervous movements. "Yeah, not so much on the Froot Loops."

Sam wet his lips and thought of a question. "So—are you guys still going to—you know—I mean—now?"

Dean didn't look up from memory-Cas, who had closed his eyes again. "Would it bother you?" He tightened his grip on Cas' hair. "I mean, Cas said that we should—you know—give you a little space. To get used to it, I mean. In case, you, uh, were…"

"Bothered by the fact that Cas was there?" Sam said with a shake of his head. "Damn it, Dean."

"Something of that sort, yes," Cas said quietly from behind Sam. Sam whirled around to see Cas—the real Cas, not the memory version in Dean's arms—standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trenchcoat.

"Thirty years and he still hasn't learned how to say normal things like hello and goodbye," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He let go of memory-Cas and stepped towards real Cas, who acknowledged him with a nod.

"Angels have no need for manners," Cas said, although there was a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth as he said the words. "I, therefore, shall abstain."

"Yeah, in other words, you're a dick," Dean grumbled. He glanced quickly at Sam. "Sam, I—" He stopped as Sam advanced onto Cas, getting right up into the angel's face. "Whoa, Sam," Dean said, a note of alarm in his voice. "Wait!"

"Castiel," Sam said, ignoring Dean. "Do you have any untoward intentions toward my brother?"

Cas blinked.

"Do you plan to stay with Dean and not go zipping at some hot chick angel's call?" Sam persisted. "Through sickness and health, old age and youth, bitchiness and assorted flatulence?"

Sam was aware that Dean's mouth had dropped open slightly, but he kept his eyes on Cas. "I do," the angel said solemnly after a beat. "Through this eternity and the next, as long as I exist."

"And do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel to be your—" Sam began, but Dean had caught on by now. With an exasperated groan, Dean had him in a firm headlock and was rubbing Sam's head with his knuckles. "Ow!" Sam yelped. "It's a legitimate question!"

"Sammy, you little bitch!" Dean laughed, tightening his grip.

"Look who's talking, jerk!" Sam said as he wriggled in Dean's hold. He tackled Dean around the waist and brought him to the ground, the two of them falling in an ungainly heap of limbs. Dean rolled away and to his feet, still laughing. Sam let him go, reveling in the sound and sight as Dean offered a hand to pull him up.

"Damn," Sam said as he came to his feet. "Well, as long as _that's_ settled, then." He pushed a stray lock of hair back between his ears before looking back and forth between Dean and Cas. Cas looked back, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Well, now that I know that Dean's virtue is safe, I guess we can move on," Sam said. "Any other things you want to tell me? Monsters killed, angels ganked? Did several major buildings explode? Am I an uncle now?"

"No! Christ, I did not need that visual, man," Dean said, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Then you'd better start talking, or I'm going to fill the blanks myself. And believe me, you wouldn't want that," Sam said dryly. He watched as Cas' hand slid into Dean's. "I'm sure you two have a lot of stories to tell instead, though. Truth is stranger than fiction and all that."

Dean smiled. "Yeah. I guess you could say that," he admitted. "Thirty years makes for a lot of weird hunts."

"There are tales other than hunting, of course," Cas interjected. "Several notable stories that occurred from when we finally settled down. Suburban living may be hazardous to one's health, I've found."

"Hey, take your time," Sam said. "After all, I've got the rest of eternity to hear them out."


End file.
